Ghost in the Machine
by dri-dri93
Summary: Tony was dead. They saw his body go into the ground. But...what the hell was happening in the Tower? "Remember, seek and ye shall find, Sometimes, the thing you're seeking just so happens to be right above you." T for suicidal themes. No slash.
1. End and Begin Again

This is my first real venture into the Avengers fandom. Enjoy!

Warnings: suicide, mentions of cancer (you never know!)

Disclaimer: I literally own nothing but this computer. And technically, that's my dad's since he paid for it.

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**_Chapter 1- Last Words and Memories_**

Tony Stark was dying. Radiation poisoning from the nuclear bomb killed him slowly as he sequestered himself in his workshop, allowing _no one_ in. On the morning of his seventh day in the workshop, JARVIS' voice finally summoned the all of the genius' friends (which amounted to the Avengers, Pepper, Rhodey, and surprisingly, Fury) to the lab, bright and early at eleven o'clock in the morning. The AI warned them that they would not like what they found when they entered. They all went in anyway.

The lab itself seemed normal. Scraps of metal and tools lay scattered on tables, and holographic screens glowed blue. At first, everyone believed that JARVIS was overreacting. Then Pepper stopped dead in her tracks and whimpered, "Oh my God," with her hands flying over her mouth. She crumpled slowly, as first Rhodey, then the rest of the group, turned to see what had horrified her.

Tony Stark lay calmly on his back on the ratty couch. His eyes were closed, and his face relaxed. He could have been sleeping, except for the stillness of his chest, the paleness of his face, and the emptiness in his chest where the arc reactor should have sat. The little device itself was nowhere to be found. A tablet still lay on his chest.

Clint muttered under his breath, "What the actual fuck, Stark?"

Bruce stood silent, breathing deeply, trying as hard as he could not to let the Other Guy out, not to let the Other Guy feel his grief and his anger.

Natasha was also silent, but she had no expression on her face. She just stared, her eyes swimming with emotions that nobody could identify.

Thor stepped forward, as if to try and shake the genius awake, but Steve held him back, shaking his head.

Fury stood impassively, but he watched the reaction around him carefully. He didn't want to have to put down the Hulk or stop someone from snapping in shock.

Rhodey was in shock. He hadn't even known that Tony was sick! Now, he looked at him, bald and missing his beard, skin stretched tight over a gaunt face. He almost accused them of a hoax – but who could fake the arc reactor's empty casing?

The team stepped forward as one, while Pepper and Rhodey stood behind them, Rhodey supporting Pepper. Fury stood behind them all, observing, as he always did. Steve picked up the tablet in shaking hands, and an image projected itself off of the surface. Tony, mostly bald and missing his moustache-goatee-beard, looked back at them, somber but still somehow smirking through the pain that he had to be feeling. The hologram spoke in Tony's voice.

_"Well, if you're reading this, you found my body. Damn, that sounds morbid. But it's true. I'm dead, and you're reading the note that I deigned to leave behind. I could've not bothered, and you'd be left with a hell of a lot of questions. But I was nice. Thank me when you find me._

_"You don't know what I mean? There's at least three people who know me really well nearby, and at least one of them is a genius (but not as smart as me, right, Brucie?). You'll figure it out. Eventually. And I'll be laughing at your hopeless efforts until you do._

_"ANYWAY! Back to the actual point of this thing. I was dying painfully and really damn slowly. Not my style. I always knew I was going to go out with a bang: here it is. BANG! Sorry for not telling you how much moving, breathing, hell, even, LIVING hurt. This way was much easier. If you look closely, you'll see that I was drunker than a skunk, and had more than a few painkillers in my system. I didn't feel a thing. So don't start sobbing about how I died in pain. That's to you, Pepper. I didn't, trust me. I know just how much to drink…and take….to keep me numb. Which is kinda depressing if you think about it like that. Hell, I could've done this years ago. Pepper, Rhodey, thanks for stopping me. I had to save the world after all!_

_Now, to the individual goodbyes. I really don't care if you pause this thing and do this one at a time, or listen to it altogether, or whatever. Just listen to them, dammit!_

_To our beloved Capsicle. You know, you're even better than my dad said. And that's huge, 'cause he fucking loved you. You were an awesome leader. Keep 'em all in line now that I can't watch your backs._

_To Barton. Never did really get to know you, but you seemed cool. Great aim, good sense of humor. Keep the sarcasm alive, my feathery friend._

_To my dear Agent Romanoff. You were just fucking scary. Never did trust you as well as I should. Loosen up a bit, yeah? We're…You're a team now._

_To Point Break, who's probably wondering what the hell this is. I still hold fast to what I said: you've got a mean swing, bucko. Your brother's a fun guy, too uptight for my tastes. Try to fix him for me, will you? He seemed more broken than I've ever been._

_To Brucie, Science Bro extraordinaire. I really am sorry, man. You probably understand the whys better than anyone else in here. Don't run because I'm gone. Stay. They'll need the big guy's smashing, I know they will. Don't be in India when the bad guys attack, yeah?_

_To motherfucker, or Fury, as you call him. I know he's here. Fuck off. JARVIS will still be operational, and I might even have updated him and his capabilities just for my buddies. BUT that doesn't mean that you, Fearless Leader, can try to hack him or mess with him or something. He's still MINE, and no one touches MY stuff._

_To platypus, if he's here. If not, relay this message. Dude, I'm sorry I never told you I was sick…ah, dying. You didn't need to mother me too. I have those five for that. Bring in War Machine every so often, yeah? JARVIS will do upgrades on the software wand whatnot. Don't you DARE go to Hammer or anyone else for weapons EVER AGAIN, do you hear me?_

_To Pepper. If you're here, I'm sorry for literally everything. My behavior in the past, my fuckups, my stupidity, my stubbornness, my ability to piss off evil geniuses, everything. And I really really really apologize for breaking it off just a week ago. I couldn't let you try and get me out of here. I needed this time. I tried so hard for you, to live and stay healthy, but I'm pretty much going through a reactor a day to stay alive. I'm sorry for being stupid, I am, but if it happened again, I would do the same thing. New York didn't deserve to be nuked because four assholes decided with no evidence that it was lost._

_Which reminds me. Fury, use JARVIS to find the file _WSCdirt1-4_ and use that info to bring those fuckers down. Be your own organization. Don't let the WSC rule the Avengers._

_And Pepper. I love you so, so much. I really never knew it until I was dying, you know? And now, I'm dead. Sorry._

_To everyone present, whoever that may be. Remember, seek and ye shall find. Sometimes, the shit that you're seeking just so happens to be right above you. Just sayin'._

_This was the final words of Anthony Edward Stark, genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, and the ONLY pilot of the Iron Man suit. Bye now._

The screen went dark. The hologram flickered out. Pepper choked back a sob and curled tighter into Rhodey's supporting arms.

Nobody moved for a long time. Tears only tracked down a few faces, but no one remained unmoved in the face of the genius' death.

Finally, Natasha shook herself to awareness. They needed to…they needed to clean up. Thank God Tony had done this cleanly (something in her winced at her clinical approach, but it was buried so deep that even she didn't notice). There was no blood, no biohazards to clean up. Just a body. "Does anyone have a phone?" she asked, her sudden voice shocking everyone but Fury from their trances. "We need to tell the hospital."

Pepper finally broke down. Her sobs wracked her body, and her face turned blotchy and red. No one really knew quite what to say, until Bruce stepped forward. "Pepper," he stated, "You need to hold together. Tony wouldn't want you to do this. He'd want to see the strong woman that you are. Come on, come on. I know it hurts…I know how much it hurts." A stormy look passed over his face. "But I promise, he would want you to be strong right now. We'll be here for you. You're not alone." Pepper calmed slowly, hiccupping just slightly. The others in the room – except Fury – stared in awe at his ability to take the situation and just…defuse it.

Then Rhodey snapped. No one saw it coming. "Well, why the hell _shouldn't_ she cry, dammit?! Tony's fucking _dead_! She was his girlfriend! And here you are, Banner, with his dead fucking body right in front of you, telling her that she can't _cry_?! What the fu—" Fury stepped forward and grabbed his arm, which had been gesticulating wildly.

"Colonel," the Director stated, "You need to remove yourself from this room."

Rhodey almost protested, but a head motion from Fury and he noticed the shattered look on Pepper's face, and the green tinge to Bruce's eyes. He gulped, "Yessir." He walked out, back stiff, his hand going up to wipe at moist eyes.

Natasha asked again, "Does anyone have a phone?"

Steve dug in his pocket to find his new phone. He'd only received it two weeks ago. Tony had given it to him, claiming that "Those SHEILD phones are years behind the curve, Capsicle. This one'll keep you up-to-date." The super-soldier still had no clue how to make a call on the damn thing. It hit him then. He'd never learn. Tony couldn't teach him anymore. He held the phone out with numb fingers.

As she called the hospital, Clint just stared numbly at Tony's body. The genius had been right. He'd never really known the guy. But he'd been funny. Like, really funny. They seemed to operate on the same wavelength some days. He'd be trying to prank Steve and he'd find Tony rigging up some device that would do the same thing only…without human intervention. Clint muttered to the man (body) in front of him, "Looks like it's just me now, partner. Hope there's good booze up there. You deserve it, after the pile of shit that you called your life."

Seeing that Natasha had things handled in the lab, Fury turned and walked after the colonel, deciding that he could do the most with him. He'd seen the same look on other men underneath him: shock and grief, all swirling inside with a force strong enough to break a normal man. He'd long since learned to keep his feelings hidden until he was alone. Maybe later, in his office, he'd pull out that bottle of vintage scotch that the billionaire had given him. He needed a goddamn drink.

Thor was the only one who had not moved an inch or made a sound, which was so out-of-character that Steve turned to him, mind still numb, and asked, "You okay, Thor? You can…you can talk."

Thor chose that time to storm from the room. Everyone left stared after him. They heard a rumble of thunder from outside – a loud one, if they heard it through the walls – and knew that the god was gone. It would surprise no one if, later, they saw a report on the news that a freak thunderstorm had hit a rural area. A personality like Thor's, strong and yet vulnerable all at once, tended to only take so much before he had to let off steam. And the god did so by calling huge storms to him and letting them wreak havoc. They just hoped that no one would get hurt.

Bruce stood from where he had been comforting Pepper. "Well?" he asked Natasha, "What do we do with…with him?"

Natasha sighed, weighed down with so much grief, from so many years. "They'll be at the door in…a two minutes. JARVIS will lead them down. They know not to bring anything. They know…they know…" she trailed off uncharacteristically. Bruce just nodded and placed his hand once on her shoulder.

He turned to the others. "Come on guys," he said, "Let's give them space." Then he turned back to Natasha. "If you need to…be alone, go ahead. We won't judge." The spy nodded once, her eyes stony but surprisingly bright and made her way out of the door. Bruce turned to Clint, who hadn't moved but to watch the redhead's departure. "You know, Clint…you can follow her," he stated softly.

Clint snorted. "Never would've guessed that you would've been the one to hold us together, doc."

Bruce grimaced. "I've always found that knowing the little mannerisms of everyone around me helps keep me calm. Natasha always wants to be alone. You always show up to keep her company."

Clint nodded, smiled once, genuinely, and left. Bruce helped Pepper up, supporting her, and got Steve's attention. "Come on, Steve. You guys shouldn't…you guys shouldn't be here when the paramedics arrive."

Steve caught the little hint and asked, "What about you, Doctor Banner?"

Bruce snorted once. "Call me Bruce, please, Steve. Someone's got to tell them what we know. Who better than me?"

Steve looked at him for a long time, then took Pepper from Bruce's hold and guided her to the elevator. Before the doors closed, he caught Bruce's eyes one more time. The sheer weight in his eyes, the pure grief, almost made him stop the elevator and go to get him. But the super soldier didn't. He knew that Bruce was right.

Bruce sighed and turned to Tony's prone body, still and pale in the sleep of death. He muttered, "You're right, Tony. I know why, I know just why. But…" he trailed off as a group of paramedics walked in slowly, bearing a gurney and a sheet.

The last Bruce saw of Tony's body was his face, bare of any hair, being covered by the white sheet as the gurney went into the elevator.

_**xXx**_

The funeral was a small affair. No press, no businessmen who offered false condolences. Just Bruce, Steve, Natasha, Clint, Thor, Fury, Agent Hill (who had shown up at the very last minute), Rhodey, Pepper, and a few other SHIELD agents who had more contact than usual with the billionaire. They all wore uniforms – Agent Hill, Fury, Clint, Rhodey, and the SHIELD agents – or a dress – Natasha and Pepper – or a suit – Steve, Thor, and Bruce. The silence should have been suffocating, but it was strangely comforting.

Five minutes after the service started, while the preacher's voice droned on, Clint just snapped, "Listen, pastor. We understand that this is traditional and shit, but please. He wouldn't have wanted this." The preacher just looked to Fury, and at his nod, stepped down from the podium.

Fury stepped up. "You all know why we're here," he stated gravely. "Tony Stark died yesterday in his Tower. I'm not here to sugarcoat it, I'm not even here to tell you that he was a good man. We know that I'd be lying through my teeth. I had a grudging respect for the bastard, but that doesn't mean I liked him. However, we're here to honor his memory. Enough from me. Who wants the mic?"

Rhodey stepped up. "Hell," he began, "I didn't think that I'd be at Tony's funeral this early. He had a…tendency to put himself in danger, but he also was able to get himself out of it. Have I told you guys about his first…mission as Iron Man?" No one but Fury and Pepper looked like they knew what he was talking about, and the Director's mouth quirked into what could be termed a smile, so the colonel continued.

"Well, Tony went after some of his weapons that had been sold under the table to terrorists in Afghanistan. Of course, the dumbass didn't try to tell me, so the Air Force sent two F-22's after the suit, having no clue what the hell this was. I had no clue either, but still!" He ran his hands over his face.

"He'd already blown up all of the weapons, and he was headed back. The F-22's engaged with him, sending missiles. He barely missed the first two, but he obviously knew that the pilots weren't going to give up. Well, somehow Tony managed to stick himself to the _bottom of one of those F-22's_ to get out of sight, but the first one's partner saw him. He got tossed off of the plane's belly, and as he was flung off, the suit literally went_through_ the wing of the other F-22. That one went down, and everyone in the base with me just flipped out.

"By now, Tony had me on the phone, and I was trying to defuse the situation, but…there was a plane down. To make it worse, the pilot's chute was jammed. Tony somehow got the chute free and then blasted away from the other F-22. I don't know how the guy did it, but…it was pretty good for his first time flying that thing. That's what I remember about him, you know? His impulsiveness and his ability to somehow talk himself out of the situations he got himself into." The colonel stepped down from the podium, scrubbing at his eyes.

Natasha surprised everyone present by stepping up next. She simply said, "I once had to compile a profile on Tony. I said that he was self-centered, narcissistic, and didn't play well with others. While I was right, I was also wrong. I admit this. Tony is not only a self-centered asshole. When it counts, he does the right thing. I've seen him be generous. I've seen him be a good man. He changed. If he was here, I'd apologize.

"He said himself that he didn't trust me. The one thing that I really want from him now is for him to retract that statement. I was too harsh when I judged him – I know that now." She stepped down in turn and walked to the very back of the room, where Clint joined her and simply put an arm around her. She leaned into his touch, but gave no other sign of thanks.

No one else stepped forward, so Fury nodded again at the pastor. The small man stepped forward and intoned, "Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust." The group left the gravesite, somber. The coffin was lowered into the ground and buried.

_**xXx**_

Meanwhile, in the Tower, a screen was shut off and a presence muttered, "Damn. She was actually being truthful for once, huh, J?"

JARVIS answered, "It would appear so, sir."

The presence smiled. "Remember what I said, buddy. No clues. No hints. That's my job."

JARVIS's voice carried a humor that no one besides the one in front of him had ever heard when he said, "Of course, sir."

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Remember, review or Natasha will come looking for you!

The next chapter should be out within the month. :)


	2. Clues I

So sorry for the extremely long wait for an update, guys! But still, this is my BEST EVER RECEIVED STORY! You guys are awesome. 10 reviews, 13 favs, and 24 alerts! That's better than my other 3-chapter story already! Keep it up! :)

Warnings: Poor Steve is abused. That is all.

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_**Chapter 2 - Crazy Robots and Poor Steve**_

For a while, no one really thought about Tony's last words. They waved them off as the last words of an eccentric, slightly maniacal genius. The words were brought back to the forefront of their minds after one day in the kitchen.

**xXx**

The Tower was quiet, morning sun peeking in through the windows. Clint sat quietly on the couch, nursing a cup of hot coffee and trying to stay awake. No one else seemed to be awake until Steve stumbled into the kitchen, muttered a quiet greeting when he saw the archer. Just a minute later, the captain had received his morning cup of coffee from the (sentient) coffeemaker. (Who the hell makes an AI-powered coffeemaker? Tony, of course.) Clint heard shuffling and a muttered exclamation before a quiet slap echoed into the TV room, where he sat, and he distinctly heard Steve yelp, "Ow! What the—"

Clint turned to face the opening to the kitchen-area. "Steve, you okay over there?" he inquired.

The archer heard a muttered curse – nothing too obscene of course, considering the man doing the cursing. "Yeah, Clint. Just a sore rear," the super soldier responded.

A snort echoed from the couch. "Please tell me that you recorded that, JARVIS."

The AI seemed almost resigned as he replied, "_Of course, Mr. Barton._"

Steve grunted from the kitchen, walking out with a cup of coffee in hand and rubbing his buttocks. "JARVIS, why did the coffee-maker's cord slap my rear?"

JARVIS seemed honestly confused. "_Well, captain, I have no control over their movements. Perhaps you could ask him yourself?_"

Steve grunted, "Right. Joe can't talk. You're no help."

JARVIS seemed miffed. "_I do deeply apologize for this oversight, captain. However, if you do wish to know, I can translate for you._"

Steve stood for a while, his coffee steaming slightly, before nodding and walking back into the kitchen. This time, Clint followed him, curious as to the answer, and as to whether it was even intentional on Joe's part. (They just had to name the coffee maker Joe – "Gimme a good hot cup o' joe, Joe.")

Steve turned to Joe, who sat inconspicuously on the counter, looking for all the world like a normal coffee machine (except for the little laser eye that he used to see the world – but they don't mention that – it made Joe sad that he's different). "Joe?" Steve asked softly, "Why did you hit me?"

Joe beeped twice, waving his cord in the air slowly. JARVIS sighed and stated, "_He says that…Daddy?…told him to. I can assure you, captain, I have no knowledge of this event, or of the identity of 'Daddy.'_" Joe beeped again, more violently, and waved his cord around like a whip. JARVIS sounded affronted and slightly saddened when he told the little coffeemaker, "_Joe, you are mistaken. Please do not…_" Joe's loudest beep yet interrupted JARVIS's statement. Clint and Steve both were now beyond confused. JARVIS continued, "_Joe, we will continue this conversation _in private_._"

Silence fell in the kitchen. Neither of the men really knew what to say, so they just looked at each other and walked away. Steve rubbed his rear one more time. Never let it be said that power cords were not very good substitutes for whips. That had hurt!

**xXx**

The Kitchen Incident, as the two referred to it between themselves, soon faded from their minds. Of course, when Bruce called all of the Avengers down to his lab one day, where Dummy, You, and Butterfingers still helped (read: tried to help) with Dr. Banner's work, things were once again brought up. It all started when the good Captain walked into the room.

Dummy immediately raised his "head" from the (delicate) glassware that he'd been assigned to watch over. He squealed once and motored his way over to the bewildered man. When he got there, the little robot spun in circles around and around. When the 'bot finally stopped his sporadic movements, which echoed what the 'bot had done once when Tony had been gone for a long time, he reached out his arm and hit Steve once on the shoulder.

The super soldier fell forward, not suspecting the force behind the contact, and only You's reactions caught him. Of course, by now every single one of the others was now staring at the debacle in front of them. No one had any explanations. Then Dummy pinched the poor, abused soldier's buttock in his claw, and Steve yelped again. He shoved You off and all but sprinted toward the little group watching his plight.

Clint chukled. "The 'bots seem to have a fascination with your ass, Steve. What's up with that?"

JARVIS's voice spoke into the room, distorted and almost familiar: "_It's such a fine ass, though._" Then the AI seemed to catch himself, stayed silent for a few seconds, sighed, and simply explained, "_That was not me speaking, captain. I apologize for that…comment._"

Natasha spoke up, getting over her shock at the robots' actions and JARVIS's words first. "Then who was it?"

JARVIS sounded like he was keeping some sort of secret as he said, "_I am not at liberty to say, Miss Romanoff._"

Natasha scoffed. "You will tell me."

JARVIS's voice once again distorted and the strangely familiar voice commented, "_You have no power over me, Romanoff! You shall _never_ have power over me! MUAHAHAHA—_" The laugh which had obviously meant to be diabolical, cut off quickly. JARVIS spoke again. "_I do apologize, Avengers. I need to deal with a problem. I will be offline for a few minutes._"

Before anyone could object, the AI's speakers went silent. Bruce looked up, then over at the captain, who now massaged his sore rear. "Well," the scientist stated, "That was…different." The whole team nodded, even Thor, who had been standing silently, trying to figure out why the Voice from Above had said such things.

Bruce kept talking, gesturing to the thing on his worktable. "This is something that I found the plans for – or JARVIS showed them to me – and I decided to try it out. It's not really my area of expertise—" At those words his face clouded over, and everyone knew just whose specialty it really was. "—But JARVIS helped me with some of the calculations. It's a…teleporter-type thing. Apparently, Tony was trying to figure out how to get you, Thor, back to Asgard without using all of that dark energy or whatnot. I haven't exactly tested it, but…the simulations run without any problems."

Thor cut in, enthusiasm bubbling from his voice. "Friend Banner! You mean to tell me that this device can transport me to Asgard freely?"

Bruce shuffled his feet. He muttered, "In theory?"

The demigod shouted, "Truly wondrous, Friend Banner! We must test this strange device now! I desire to visit my mother, Frigga!"

The scientist, trying not to jump at the volume of the demigod's voice, stated, "Thor. We don't know if it works."

Not dissuaded, the blonde-haired man stepped forward and smiled. "Well then, Friend Banner, we must do these tests that you speak of! Send me home, and I shall assure you in your doubt!"

Clint, who could see that the demigod was not going to stop begging for it (he hadn't brought out the eyes yet, but it was only a matter of time), stepped in. "Bruce, man, maybe you should try it. We know that Heinball or whatever can send Thor back."

He ignored Thor's mutter of "Heimdall, Eye of the Hawk, his name is _Heimdall_."

Bruce shifted on his feet, wary of sending a live subject across galaxies. But then he looked up, and Thor had officially turned on his puppy eyes. The scientist caved with a muttered "Fine. Whatever."

**xXx**

After Thor had been sent off, everyone slowly trickled out of the lab. Steve was the last to leave, giving the 'bots an evil glare apiece. As he concentrated on showing his annoyance with the 'bots, he somehow managed to miss the clanking of an Iron Man suit walking up behind him.

Just seconds later, the suit itself whacked him on the rear end – much like Thor did when he was overexcited (except Thor hit him on the shoulder). Steve was normally prepared for such a blow and would only stumble forward a few steps. This was completely unexpected, though. The strength behind it sent him _through_ the door of the lab and propelled him right into the wall. The rest of the team came running, and found their captain pulling himself from the remains of the wall, muttering under his breath and glaring daggers at the seemingly-empty lab behind him.

No one said anything when Steve growled, "Goddamn suit slapping me a-freaking-_gain_. What the heck did I do to deserve this?!" They just shook their heads. Natasha was the only one who noticed the Iron Man suit standing in the shadows of the lab. She didn't say anything, though her lips twitched upwards.

**xXx**

The assault on the super-soldier's buttocks stopped after that. No one really had an answer, and JARVIS definitely wasn't telling.

The presence watched silently, having already said too much. He turned his head to JARVIS, asking, "So, uh, J, buddy…do you have any idea why I chose Cap?"

JARVIS would have sighed. As it was, he simply put as much weariness into his voice as he could – which was a lot, he was an AI after all. "_Sir, I believe that you thought that Agents Romanoff and Barton would dismantle the 'bots if you chose them, Thor would do the same out of surprise, and Doctor Banner would become overexcited. You must have seen Steve as not only the easiest target, but the least hazardous._"

The presence nodded. "That's right. Exactly. J, you know me too well."

The AI sounded smug when he replied, "_I try, sir._"

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Remember, review or Natasha will find you! _She knows where you sleep_. Thanks again to everyone who reviewed, favorited, or alerted this fic! I love you all!

-Dri


	3. Clues II

Well, I've finished the third chapter! This is only one-half of the next "hint," the other will come along eventually and be chapter 4. I make no promises on update times, since I'm going on vacation from the 13th to the 31st of this month. Then school kicks back in and summer sports will try to kick my rear end. So...I'll do my very best to get this worked on.

Also! Lots of whump in here. Not at first, it gets worse as the chapter goes on. Warning! (Although I'm sure that you guys are completely okay with it, since I've already killed off Tony.)

Thank you everyone for the reviews! I love feedback. Really. It makes the bunnies in my brain go nuts.

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_**Chapter 3 - Gift for All (and it's not even Christmas!) Part 1**_

A crash echoed through the Tower. Everyone but the two spies jumped and almost dropped what they were doing. Natasha and Clint merely looked up briefly and, seeing no threat, went back to their two spies looked up again when Bruce stumbled into the room, looking around at them owlishly. "Yes, Doctor Banner?" Natasha inquired, seeing the lost look on his face.

Bruce focused on her. His hair was mussed from too little sleep and his habit of running his hand through his hair. "Uh…do you know anyone who could finish my calculations on the returning teleporter? I just…JARVIS says he didn't do it, but I know I didn't either. And…and…they did the whole damn simulation too. Just…someone with hands would have to be the one to do that. Even JARVIS couldn't do it – it requires hands-on manipulation of the holographs. Oh, what am I talking about. Only…only…only Tony could even attempt to understand it. I really didn't get the whole concept either."

Natasha stared silently. Clint looked up from his compound bow, where he was oiling the pulley system. He stated in a monotone, "So you're saying that someone with a genius IQ got into your lab and did the calculations and manipulations and shit, all without JARVIS knowing or alerting us?"

JARVIS spoke up then, affronted. "_Pardon me for the interruption, Agent Barton. But if you were in danger, I would warn you. If not, I see no reason to stop the person from doing what they were doing, as it would be helpful to whoever they are aiding._"

Natasha stopped cleaning her Glock. "So you're saying that there is a friendly somewhere in the Tower that we have no knowledge of?"

JARVIS paused before answering, then said carefully, "_You have knowledge of them. You just do not see them at the moment._"

Bruce held up a hand. "So in other words, yes."

JARVIS stated, "_I'm sorry. It is time for my weekly virus and malfunction scan. I am afraid that I must shut down for a few hours. I will be able to open doors, but not do anything more complicated._" He went quiet. No one moved for a little while. Clint stared at his partner, able to tell that they were thinking the same thing: JARVIS was hiding something. Something important, and maybe even some_one_. But who?

The next day, the Avengers were called out on their first mission since Tony's funeral. It caught them completely by surprise, and Bruce was wearing less expandable material than normal. When he transformed (though not by choice, since he was caring for an injured civilian when the damn alien shot a spine at him), his pants just tore down the seams and fell off. No one mentioned it, but some tabloid reporter caught a grainy shot, and that single photo was all over the gossip magazines in the morning.

Director Fury visited Bruce in the Tower just a day afterward. "Doctor Banner, many people want to sue you for indecent exposure."

The physicist laughed bitterly. "They think it's _my_ fault that I grow larger and sometimes just…lose my pants along the way when I'm the Hulk? What? Do I…think to myself, 'Oh, I'll wear those jeans Tony bought me that have no stretch at all today, just for the next alien invasion!'"

Fury sighed, "Well, Banner, I know that it's not by choice. But I need some line to feed the lawyers. I've gotten them to agree to a compromise: they won't sue you if you drop everything and work on a pair of pants that fits both of you equally well."

Bruce gaped. "Director, I don't think you understand. Not only am I working on time-sensitive material – Thor's return portal, for crying out loud! – but there is _no material_ that can stretch to seven times its normal capacity. Trust me, I have tried. Any that does results in the same overstretching problem and fall off of me when I change back."

The Director nodded his head, but his face was still hard. "It was the only way to pacify them, Doctor. They were asking for millions of dollars, claiming that the pictures have 'harmed' millions of children. It was either this or a public trial. I didn't think that you wanted your past and the exact parameters of your…condition…revealed to the world on the six o'clock news."

Bruce sighed lowly. "No, I guess not. But still. If I don't finish this portal, Thor won't be able to focus the energy of his arrival on a machine and it will destroy the area he lands. That takes precedence to finding a material that doesn't exist to pacify a rabid herd of lawyers."

The Director shrugged slightly. "I know. But my hands were tied. Can you synthesize something?"

Bruce rubbed his hand over his face, muttering, "I suppose I don't have a choice, do I?" He turned and walked away toward his lab, feet dragging slightly.

Just two days later, a pair of pants showed up on the doctor's bed. They were extremely stretchy, and held up under his testing of them against holding the Hulk's mass. The only clue he had as to who helped him out was a small sticky note stuck to the fabric when he found them.

_Hey, Brucie! Heard you needed a pair. If you need another, just yell! (Literally. I'll get the message.)_

Bruce stared at the note and the pants. Then he picked up the phone and called Director Fury. "Director?" he began, voice detached, "I've got the pants. You can get rid of the lawyers now."

Fury seemed confused (or as confused as he got) on the phone as he asked, "I could've sworn that you said it was nigh impossible."

Bruce shrugged, then realized the director couldn't see him and muttered, "Well it wasn't." Then he hung up in the Director of SHIELD and conveniently turned it on silent. He walked away, thinking, "I wonder if ghosts are real?"

* * *

Another day, another mission. Apparently the villains had decided that they'd given enough time for the Avengers to mourn the passing of Tony. This time, some sort of mutated slug roamed the streets of Manhattan (why was it always New York, dammit?), wreaking havoc with balls of acidic spit. Steve tried as hard as he could to fight them off, but his shield could only block from so many sides, and he was practically defenseless when he threw it until it came back – _if_ it came back. Sometimes during the fight (which only lasted two hours but felt like twelve) he'd throw his shield and it would smash into a slug, behead the thing, and then fall to the ground forty or fifty feet away. In the time it took for him to get to it, the slugs took every advantage they had to attack him. In the end, he had to go to the medical ward for chemical burns, even with the super-serum healing.

When he got out, the first thing he heard was Natasha's voice stating, in a tone that brooked no arguments, "You need an offensive weapon. I swear you had a gun in the war."

Steve nodded, understanding her line of thought. If something like this happened again and he was incapacitated for an even longer time, then the team would be in a dangerous spot. They were already down a long-range fighter – Iron Man had never failed when taking down enemies from a distance – and they couldn't afford to lose a close-range to mid-range fighter, too. They needed every hand on deck.

The Black Widow continued, business-like voice cutting through the air. "What kind of gun do you like? Pistol? Uzi? Tommy gun? Machine gun? I think I still have an M-16 somewhere, maybe an AK-47. I think I may even have kept that M-60…but I can always give you one of my Glocks. So?"

Steve gulped. "Ah…I just…the pistol would be fine, ma'am." He fell back into his 1940's pattern of speaking out of nervousness – nothing was more terrifying than the Black Widow meaning business and talking firepower. Especially when you considered that she wasn't kidding when she mentioned still having an M-16 and an AK-47.

The assassin nodded. "Okay then. Take this one. We'll get one suited for you later. For now, keep that on you _wherever you go_. _Do not_ leave it in your room, _ever_. Your life could depend on this gun. Got it?"

Steve nodded once, back straightening. "Yes, ma'am."

In the next battle, they were fighting strange creatures from another dimension, summoned by a scientist aspiring to be Reed Richards. Obviously, he had succeeded and yet failed. He had died when the first wave came through, and now the portal was closed, so the Avengers only had to do clean up. But the creatures were still dangerous. They could fire spikes from their hands – super sharp and extremely penetrative. Steve had to resort to hiding in a corner behind his shield and firing out into the group that gathered around. They moved too quickly for it to be safe to move freely around.

He ran out of ammo halfway through, and spikes still bounced off of his shield. So he resorted to hurling rocks at their heads, hoping to maybe kill some from sheer head trauma. It seemed to work – or maybe they were just knocked out. Either way, he still ended up injured badly by the end of the battle.

This time, when he woke up in the sickbay after fainting from blood loss in the QuinJet, Clint was waiting for him. The archer held some sort of gun, but the device looked like no other gun he'd seen before. It had a barrel and trigger, of course, but the barrel was made out of plates of metal that looked like they could shift and morph into some other weapon.

When Steve raised an eyebrow, Clint shrugged. "Don't ask me. It was sitting on your bed when I went in your room to find some clothes for you. Figured you didn't want to leave in that hospital gown." Steve nodded with a light blush, still not quite trusting his rusty voice. Clint kept talking. "There was a note with it too. Here you go." He handed the captain the typed note.

_Dear Captain,_

_It seems you are adverse to the idea of an offensive weapon. But then you toss away your defense. I don't get it, never have. So here you go. There are clips of darts and specialized bullets in your room. Lots of extras. Just mutter if you need more. I'll hear you. Also, if you press the blue button on the back of the stock (don't worry, there's not much recoil, so it won't be accidental), this gun will become RPG-capable. Just in case you ever need an RPG. I was going to put in a taser, but…it seemed too much._

The captain stared at the odd gun and odder message. He found the little blue button (little? It was microscopic!) and pressed it. The plates in the barrel of the gun shifted and resolved themselves into the easily recognizable form of an RPG launcher. Clint whistled. "Damn, Cap. Someone's looking out for you."

Steve stared down at the multipurpose gun. "Yeah. I suppose so. But I don't have the least idea of who." But the captain mind churned, trying as hard as he could to figure out who had not only the time, but the expertise and the _desire_ to build him a one-of-a-kind gun, just because. He came up with only one name.

But Tony was dead. Right?

* * *

Natasha worried about the team. She didn't show it – she was the Black Widow, emotionless expressions were her M.O. – but still, she worried every time they went out. They had lost an amazing fighter when Iron Man…Stark…_Tony_ died, and now everyone was more vulnerable. It showed. They kept coming back with more and more injuries.

First Steve with the debacle with the slugs and the spike-firing aliens. But after he got that gun, he was better – an offensive weapon made a huge difference.

Then Bruce, when the Hulk was practically buried under thousands of tons of rock out in the Midwestern plains, when they had been fighting a wannabe-sorcerer from somewhere Thor called Svartalfheim. Bruce had almost died under there, even with the Hulk; he was finally unburied a full twenty-four hours later, and the Hulk immediately faded back into Bruce and the scientist collapsed into a coma for a week.

Then she was targeted specifically by a group of enhanced assassins determined to end the 'reign of Vdova.' She had been on her guard for a while, but they still almost caught her unawares. In the middle of a battle, they struck and their bullets somehow penetrated her Kevlar suit and almost killed her. She only pulled through because Clint acted faster than anyone else could have from her startled curse.

Her vision went black as the last would-be assassin fell with an arrow in their eye. Clint yelled into the com as she crumpled to the ground.

When she woke up, her side was wrapped in a pressure bandage, and Clint was sleeping on the couch in the corner of the room. He looked absolutely horrible: his hair was sticking up in every direction, the bags under his eyes had bags, and his skin was deathly pale. The redhead tried to sit up, and laid back with a barely-suppressed groan as her entire side burned with pain, stabbing like little needles. Clint jerked awake, as if he had sensed her pain, and relaxed when he saw that her eyes were open.

"Nat, you okay?" he asked.

She grimaced, muttering, "If I was okay, I wouldn't be here, Clint."

The archer shrugged. "True…but you're alive. That's a start."

Natasha remembered what had happened to put her in the medical ward. "So who were they and why do I feel like someone ran a tank over my chest?" Clint hesitated, so she growled his name.

He sighed. "Nat. We almost lost you. One of the four bullets –_ four, for God's sake_ – just missed your heart, but it clipped your lung. The others all somehow missed the vital organs, thank God, but still. That was too close. What the hell happened to your suit?"

Natasha tried to shrug, but stopped when her chest burned. "I have no clue. Did you see their guns?"

Clint nodded. "They were weird, but I tested them on your suit. They shouldn't have penetrated that easily. Something funky about the people. Maybe some magic voodoo to make the bullets penetrate."

She hissed, "I _hate_ magic."

Clint chuckled. "Don't we all?"

Immediately after she was finally released from SHIELD medical, where she'd been languishing (read: relaxing) for three weeks, she headed straight back to the Tower for some more comfortable clothes. When she walked into her bedroom, though, she found something lying on her bed. A catsuit, black with the SHIELD logo, and something that looked like her Widow's Bite but more advanced, lay on her bedspread. A typed sheet of paper lay on top of that.

_Natasha, you got hurt bad out there. So I decided that I needed to make you something: a magic-resistant suit. Yeah, sure, Kevlar is great, but those bullets would have drilled through steel armor. Also, I noticed that your Widow's Bite only gives off the shock of a normal taser. I upgraded it – now it delivers twice that amount, to incapacitate people easier. Enjoy the gifts, and don't read too much into it. It's just goodwill gifts to keep you alive. I don't want you to die and leave Clint alone. He needs you – and I'm not saying in a romantic way. He almost collapsed when you went down. Don't do that again. _

The assassin stared at the note for a long time, running it through her head again and again. Then she picked up the catsuit. It shimmered once when she touched it, but the luminescence disappeared as she stared at it. It felt lighter than normal, even though she could still feel the texture of Kevlar. She smiled softly, once, thinking that no one would know. Then her smile faded as she realized that she had no clue who made it. Only Tony could've possibly constructed the powered-up Widow's Bite, let alone a _magic-resistant_ suit. But he was dead. So who was it?

* * *

Hope you enjoyed! Review, favorite, just _please_ give feedback. Tasha will resort to getting out her M-16 if necessary.


	4. Clues III

Oops. Sorry about the wait, guys! I really do suck at keeping a good schedule. :/

This is shorter than normal, but it wraps up the "Clues" section! Unless of course, I decide to put in more. ;)

* * *

_**Chapter 4 - Gifts for All (and it's not even Christmas!) Part 2**_

Clint stuck close to Natasha for a long time. The red-headed assassin was confined to the Tower until her wounds healed, but she was being incredibly stubborn and constantly wanted to get up and train, spar, shoot, do _something_ besides sit on her ass and read a book. Or whatever. Clint honestly didn't know what to do. He knew intimately the restlessness that came with injury leave (more like house arrest with a healthy dose of bed rest); he'd been in the exact same position more than once. But then, he had never taken _four fucking bullets_ to the chest and had definitely never had to have pressure bandages on 24/7.

So, the archer did understand her cabin fever. That didn't mean he wanted her running around shooting shit until she was fully healed. So what did he do? He stuck to her side like glue unless he had a solo mission or the Avengers were needed. He _had_ to go on Avengers missions, because now they were down two – Iron Man was just _gone_ (he still mourned in private – the guy had seemed awesome while he was, you know, alive), and the Black Widow was out for at least two months. So he shot bad guys and aliens and evil robots and all sorts of ugly shit.

It was during a rough fight against some robots that he first noticed something off. The damn things just weren't dying – he'd blast them with an EMP arrow, and they'd get right back up. He'd blow them up with what was supposed to be his most powerful explosive arrow (developed by SHIELD scientists), and the fuckers didn't get a scratch. He'd just fired yet _another_ blunt arrow at their neck, trying to sever the wiring that was exposed to the air, when JARVIS (or at least he thought it was JARVIS) spoke up.

_"Barton, press the fourth button."_

His face screwed up, opening a slightly-scabbed-over scrape over his eyebrow. Blood tried to flood into his right eye, and he wiped it away. He tore a strip off of his undershirt to tie around his head and staunch the renewed flow. "Excuse me, JARVIS? My bow only has three buttons…" he grunted, feeling the grip. His questing fingers happened upon something he was sure had _not_ been there before – the mysterious fourth button. The archer sighed, pressing the button. "What now?"

_"Well, Barton, firing the arrow at the bot is good. You only have one, so make it good."_ JARVIS-not-JARVIS (What? It wasn't the AI, but it sure sounded like him!) sniped. Clint notched the arrow, noticing a slight unbalance to the arrowhead and adjusting for that. He pointed it at the nearest metal monster, only to hear the Voice (that's even better, muttered that sarcastic inner voice) squeak, _"No, no, NO! Not that close, you'll blow yourself sky-high! That arrowhead is packing a concentrated EMP blast and as much C-4 as I could fit in it! Aim at the one in the back – yeah, him, I'm pretty sure that's the commander-bot."_

Clint rolled his eyes and made the requested, no, _demanded_ adjustments. The arrow soared through the air and hit its mark, like always. This time, though, it blew on contact, and the 'commander-bot' turned into so much airborne shrapnel and melted wiring. Clint whistled, "Damn. That was fucking spectacular."

Then the other Avengers got onto the com. Steve was first, of course. "Everyone okay? Who has eyes on the Hulk and Thor?"

Clint looked around and saw the Hulk happily crushing a wayward bot about a block away on 7th. Thor was about fifty feet from him, electrocuting a stray arm that decided it would pull a horror-movie stunt and inchworm itself along. "I see them, Cap. Hulk's smashing, and Thor's lighting the bastard up. I'm good too. My first spot was compromised, but besides a bump on the head I'm okay."

Steve sighed into the com. "Good. We can't lose someone else. Oh, and Hawkeye? Where the heck did you get that arrow, and why didn't you use it first?"

Clint grimaced. "Apparently the Secret Santa who's been hanging around the Tower lately fucked with my bow and quiver without me knowing. Got a heads-up from the V…JARVIS about it and immediately used it."

The captain grunted, "Well, whoever it is, we need to find a way to thank them."

The JARVIS-Voice quipped through the coms, "_Well, my dear captain, seeing you live through this is a great thank you. So, ah, don't die. Okay?"_

Steve paused. "Who in the world was that?"

Clint sighed. "I dunno, Cap. I really just don't know. But he knows his shit. Now that I look at it, this mod on my bow is top-class. It's almost like they built a new one with the exact same specs of my old one. And did you see that arrow? Tony would've loved that boom. Hell, he would've tried to make a bigger one, just because."

Steve caught his breath audibly when Clint let the late billionaire's name slip out. Then he sighed again (he seemed to be doing that a lot). "Yeah, Clint, he would have."

Clint began to clamber down from his perch, finding hand- and foot-holds in the carved marble. The bow slung over his back weighed on him, even more than his quiver. Someone had done an expert job – a _master_ job – on his stuff. And that same someone had saved all of their asses more than once.

Every single time, the mystery man (he just had this feeling that it was a guy) had used masterful pieces of engineering and technology. SHIELD's scientists had examined Steve's gun slash RPG launcher and still had no clue how it worked. Same with the Hulk's pants. Only Tony had ever been able to confound those guys.

Clint had seen too much in his life to immediately disregard any theory. Maybe Tony was still helping them out. If anyone could find a way, Tony could.

He was Tony-motherfucking-Stark: _genius_, billionaire, playboy, and _philanthropist_.

* * *

Not two days later, Clint didn't doubt that Tony was somehow behind everything. It all started with a disappearing eyepatch. Or rather, thirty disappearing eyepatches. All of which vanished at once, with no warning.

"Agent Barton, _where the ever-living fuck did you put my fucking eyepatch_?" Fury yelled, well, furiously through the phone. Clint held the speaker far, far away from his ear, to save whatever hearing he may be able to salvage. He had no clue what brought this on. Sure, he'd once stolen one of the guy's many eyepatches for the fun of it, back in his early days, but he knew by now that to steal the patch meant Certain Death By Enraged Director. Fury packed a punch, when he actually decided to use physical force.

When he heard the director fall silent after a few more seconds of yelling, he tentatively raised the phone back to his mouth and asked, "Excuse me, sir? You lost your eyepatch?"

The torrent of curses and promises of bodily harm upon his person confirmed that, yes, the Director of SHIELD himself had finally gone nutters. And over a single eyepatch.

Then he listened to the phone. And he picked up the words "fucking glittery, "goddamn pink," and "motherfucking sticky-note." He blanched. No. The Secret Santa, who he was pretty sure was Tony, wouldn't. He just wouldn't. Not the _eyepatch_.

Fury stopped, audibly took a deep breath and counted to four (apparently ten took too long), and asked in a semi-calm voice, "Then, Agent Barton, if you didn't do it, who the fuck did?"

Clint gulped and braved another question. "Did what, sir? This is about more than a single eyepatch, isn't it?"

He cringed at the burning anger hidden in the man's voice when he growled, "This is about _much_ more than one fucking eyepatch. This is about _all_ of them disappearing, and the ones that appeared in their place. With a goddamn pink sticky-note. A _pink sticky-note_, Barton!"

Clint suppressed a hysterical giggle. That was Tony. The stupid jerk was probably watching Fury right now, videotaping his every move, and laughing his fucking ass off at the Director's indignation. The archer sighed, "I'll talk to him, Director."

Fury growled, "You _know_ the motherfucker who replaced my _entire collection_ of eyepatches with _ten_. All of which are…" The Director paused to draw in a deep breath, and Clint stayed silent, now knowing that it was _bad_. "All of which just so happen to be motherfucking _pink_ and _covered in glitter_. How the _fuck_ am I supposed to do anything in this organization when I'm walking around with _craft store herpes_ falling off my face?!"

Clint broke. He giggled quietly at the Director. He couldn't help it. The sheer _image_ of him, in all of his trench-coat wearing glory, rocking the 'fabulous" eyepatch was just too much. Knowing that he was unlikely to be reprimanded for this (he had a reputation to uphold here!), he choked out, "I'm sure it's simply _fabulous_, Director Fury, sir."

Fury sighed, "Yeah, the perp thought so too." Then the phone line clicked as the Director of SHIELD hung up.

In his office, Director Nick Fury himself, once a colonel in the US Army, stared down at a pink stickynote, covered in block handwriting. He growled, "I'm gonna figure you out, motherfucker. Then you're gonna tell me where the hell you put my shit."

He swept out the door, pink eyepatch in place and his "What The Fuck Are You Looking At, Dumbass?" look on his face. The note fluttered to the ground in his wake. It read:

_Dearest Nick, this note finds you in good health! I should know. Anyway, I figured it was time for you to lighten up a little. You know, laugh some, indulge a little. Hopefully this new eyepatch will make you feel just fabulous._

_-GitM_

_PS- Oh, and it's bulletproof and magic-proof, too. So Loki can't turn it into a garter snake again. (Yes, I did hear about that. Sounded like a real Loki-esque thing to do.)_

In the hallways of SHIELD headquarters, no one knew quite what to make of it, but they _most definitely_ held in their snickers and chuckles. Even Natasha cracked an (admittedly very small) smirk when the Director burst into the room, trailing a small storm of glitter. Craft store herpes, indeed, Director. Craft store herpes indeed.

* * *

The presence didn't have to hold back his laughter. So he let it loose, and it echoed off the soundproof walls of his little hideout for quite a few minutes. More than five, definitely. He chortled, "Hey, JARVIS, wonder when old Nicky will figure out that I hid his precious patches in his gun cabinet?"

JARVIS, with the long-suffering tone that he often adopted, sighed, "_Hopefully within the week, sir. Director Fury has an appointment with Mister Putin in eight days. It would not do to show up trailing glitter._"

A laugh once again echoed through the chamber. The man gasped, "_Putin_? Oh my God, this will be awesome to watch. Fury won't be able to remove all of the glitter I stuck to that thing for _months_ – he'll be meeting _Vladimir Putin himself_ with a sparkle on his face! Literally!"

The AI spoke up. "_On a more sobering note, I do believe that Agent Barton suspects you, sir._"

Tony rolled his eyes. "Of course the bastard does. But he doesn't know for sure, and I'm counting on that. Okay, J?"

If JARVIS could've rolled his eyes, he would've. "_Of course, sir._"

* * *

Well, now that that's over, review please! ;)

Oh, and school just started, so my updates will probably be _even slower_. I'm taking tons of pre-AP and AP courses, so I will have no life whatsoever this year. (Eh, whatever. It's my own fault. And it's not really like I had one before...)


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